Here it is then. The big fight night! *walks off whistling innocently*
xXBalorBabeXx, So, place your bets now. Is Lauren going to win? Because at least you and Dean think she is!
Mandy, Aww, happy birthday to your mom. I hope she had a good day! Haha, of course your birthday should be a national holiday. I might petition for mine to be too! And I'm glad that my last chapter (and your new crush) made you smile. Hopefully this chapter will brighten your day too!
Crazyredhead2005, Well where's the joy in life if you can't mess with Stephanie every once in a while? I have to let Dean have some fun after all!
Wolfgirl2013, Thank you Thought they needed a bit of cuteness before I notch the drama back up!
Rebel8954, Ooh, I never considered Seth interfering dressed as a ninja! I'm almost sorry I wrote it this way now (lol). Although there is still some Seth here, so hopefully I get some bonus points for that?
Idcam, *Drumroll* Well, here we are! Hopefully you enjoy this chapter as much as the others. I'm not giving anything away, but it might not turn out like you expect. Or how anyone's expects quite frankly…
Minnie1015, I thought we needed a little bit of cuteness before the big fights. Oh, and about Lauren kicking butt…I…ummm…yeah…
It's showtime!
Fight Night
"Hey," Seth whispered by way of a greeting as he slid like a shadow through the door of our dressing room, and then looked around to check that no one else was in there. Which they weren't. It was just him, Dean, Roman and me, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," I shrugged casually. And semi hysterically, "Why shouldn't I be? After all, I'm only about to go out in front thousands of people to have a wrestling match with only a month of training under my belt, in order to not be thrown out of the company and have a woman my husband used to sleep with—and who has no experience—come in and take my place. Not to mention the fact that I have to wear an outfit that makes me look like a backup dancer for Cher."
To emphasize the last part, I waved a hand across my midsection, where I was sporting a diamanté encrusted wrestling crop top and a matching pair of Lycra hot pants.
"I think they look good on you," Dean shrugged back, trying and failing to not make it obvious that he'd spent the last ten minutes staring at my butt.
"You would," I countered, dropping my arms down and then hissing as they grated across the rhinestones, "Ouch. Oh dear god, I've turned into sandpaper."
"Hot sandpaper," Dean clarified, like that would help, "An' besides, if Kaylee comes at you with her fingernails, at least you'll be able to file 'em down on your breasts."
In response, I ducked and nudged my hip into his forearm, which left a bright red line down it.
"Fuck."
"See?" I moaned, "I can't go out wearing this. I'll hurt myself, or the fans, or—,"
"There she is," Matt crowed proudly as he waltzed through the door, "Ooh, and she's looking so good in my creation. Come on now, give the designer a twirl."
It had been nearly five whole days since I'd seen him, and apparently while I had been working on wrestling moves, he had been working on my outfit for the night. In spite of the fact that in our last conversation about what I would be wearing, I had said a shirt and tights. Which had clearly gone in one ear and out the other.
Hence the bag of material he had presented me with earlier on. And also hence my present situation.
Or at least, the clothing part of it.
I reluctantly did a twirl and then gently attempted to broach the main problem,
"It's a little bit scratchy—,"
"I know, the diamantés look super cool, right?" Matt replied, like I was giving him a compliment.
"And I'm not convinced that my boobs won't fall out."
"Which is why I brought you tit tape," my work friend chirped, holding up a large roll. At which point, Seth and Roman turned bright crimson and started making excuses to leave. Although Dean stayed right where he was, unmoving, which I was so thankful for I could have broken down and cried, since I was already terrified enough with him near me. Without him I would have probably had a psychotic break.
"This is crazy. I must be crazy," I muttered in a half daze, shaking my head, "I'm about to wrestle. On pay per view. What was I thinking?"
"Hey, Princess, look at me."
Two warm hands reached out and cupped my cheek bones, turning my face as Matt fiddled with my boobs, which honestly, I was barely even aware of.
"Take a deep breath for me here, alright?" Dean instructed, ducking his head a little to allow me to gaze straight into his eyes, which looked as cool and calm as ever, "Come on, out through the nose, an' in through the mouth."
"Isn't it the other way around?" I asked him, as Matt readjusted my top and stepped back, evidently pleased with his handiwork.
"Who freakin' cares as long as it works?"
"Good point," I nodded, doing as instructed and sucking a long breath in through my mouth, before pushing it back out of my nose and down my bra top. Which—huh, okay—did feel a little more secure.
Matty handed me a bottle of hairspray, which I took in confusion,
"But I already did my hair."
"I know. It's to stop your hot pants from riding. I saw it on Miss Congeniality," he shrugged, before taking a step back, interlocking his fingers and giving me—
Wait, was that a teary eyed smile?
"Sweetie, I honestly can't tell you what this means to me. I mean, I've wanted to be a designer for sooo long, and now I have one of my best ever creations out there in front of thousands of fans," coming in, he hugged me tightly, seemingly impervious to the diamanté studs, then stepped back like a mom sending her daughter off on prom night, "You can do this honey. Me and the outfit believe in you."
"Uh, thanks," I offered, smiling weakly at him. Not that he noticed my expression at all, since he kept his eyes glued tight to his creation right up until he stepped through the door, as if he thought it, and not me, would be wrestling.
Which would have been preferable.
"Dean?" I squeaked, suddenly realizing that Matt had replaced him and panicking that I couldn't see him in front of me anymore. Which it turned out, had been the one thing keeping me grounded. And breathing evenly, "Where did you go? Dean—,"
"Whoa, easy, I'm right here Princess. Fuck, what was that breathin' thing I just said? In through the butthole an' out through the belly button?"
I let out a snort in spite of myself, then turned as his hands spun me gently towards him,
"Dean, I can't do this."
"Fuck that. Of course you can," he huffed back, his eyes full of confidence that I wished I could mirror, rather than shaking and thinking the worst. Like the fact that everyone's eyes would be on me. Everyone's. Wrestlers. My father. The fans—, "I mean, it's not as if you haven't been through worse before, right? What with bein' kidnapped by Wyatt. An' Steph an' Hunter. An' that creepy ass dude from High School."
Elliott. God. I'd forgotten all about him. And okay, so admittedly, I'd been kidnapped a lot.
In fact, at this point it was almost a hobby.
"But those were different," I protested in a huff, leaning forward and dropping my head against his sternum, which still smelled like sweat from his earlier match. The one where he had beaten Wade Barrett and legally won the IC championship. Which at least meant I didn't have to keep saying he had borrowed it, or acquired it, or found it, or the other lies I had said, but also meant that my chances of winning were smaller. Because what were the odds that both of us would win? "I wasn't really thinking those times. I was just trying to get back to you."
"Princess, I hate to break this to you," Dean mumbled huskily into my hair, which made my whole skull buzz like a hummingbird, "But that's called workin' on a shit ton of adrenaline. Which is exactly the same thing you need for wrestlin'."
"But I don't want to wrestle," I wailed, "All I want to do is sit behind the announce desk and spend the show poking fun at JBL."
"That's what we all want," Dean grumbled back, before shrugging, "Well, everyone apart from JBL. But to get that, you gotta go an' kick Kaylee's ass for me. You think you can do that?"
"I guess," I huffed, meeting his eyes as he lifted my chin up,
"There's my girl," he grinned at me, poking in my bottom lip, which I'd stuck out like a trantrumming toddler, "Now, let's check that these boobs ain't about to fall out."
"But Matty already—Dean," I snorted, breaking off as he shamelessly groped me through the top, cupping first one breast, then the other, before swapping his hands over and jiggling them up and down, all the while sticking his tongue out in concentration.
"You know, I think they might be okay. But lemme just get in here to make certain—,"
"Dean," I giggled, forgetting my plight as his hand began to creep in past the boob tape and down between my—
"Damn," Dean hissed, as my cell phone started to buzz in the corner, followed by the sound of Kelly's personal ringtone, which was Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Even though she had originally wanted Beyoncé's Run The World.
Dropping his forehead against mine then looking upwards, so we were staring at each other through our respective bangs, Dean breathed out a short sigh and grinned ruefully,
"Well, there goes your pre-match fuck."
"My pre-match what?" I spluttered, reaching for my cell phone while trying not to let our bodies drift too far apart. Because had I mentioned the whole he was keeping me calm bit? And how warm and sweaty he smelt? Which really shouldn't have been so alluring, or as much of an instant turn on as it was.
"You know, to help with the nerves," Dean shrugged, which—didn't sound like the worst idea ever. Except for the part where I was due out on stage, and wearing the tightest hot pants in history. And about to answer the phone to my best friend.
"Aww, that's sweet," I cooed, reaching up to kiss him. And then kissing him again because he tasted so good, "Rain check until later? And besides, I might need it if Kaylee wi—,"
Dean pinned my lips,
"Hey, she's not gonna win. You hear me? Now answer your damn phone already."
"Mm'kay," I mumbled as best as I could around his fingers, before pressing the call button, "H'lo Kol."
"Laurie?" Kelly responded in confusion, "Are you okay? Your voice sounds weird."
I flapped Dean off and cleared my throat,
"Nope, I'm fine. Or, you know, as fine as I can be considering that I'm about to wrestle for the first time and might not have a job once I finish. But I mean, other than that I'm fine. Oh, and Dean wants you to know that you ruined pre-match sex time."
Kelly took the last bit of news in her stride, or like I'd just told her it was meant to rain later,
"Oh, well don't mind me. Go ahead. And hey, while I wait, you can put me on with Roman and he and I can—,"
"Nope. That's okay," I interrupted before she could get too excited, "You have my full attention."
"I'm gonna go an' speak to Seth," Dean murmured, giving me a kiss on the forehead, "See if he's got the inside track on tonight, an' what The Authority might be plannin'."
"Okay," I whispered, covering the phone, before tiptoeing up for another quick smooching,
"Laurie? Hello? Are you still there?"
Oops.
"Yep. Sorry, I think I must have bad signal."
"Uh huh," Kelly deadpanned, "Bad signal. Sure."
I could almost hear her fingers air quoting me, although rather than give in and admit that she was right and that actually I had been swooning over my husband, I waited for Dean to slip out through the door and then gave her my undivided attention.
For real this time.
"Sooo, what were you saying?"
"I was saying how do you feel about tonight? Ready to go out and kick some serious skank butt?"
"Honestly? I'm not really sure," I shrugged, sinking down onto one of the metal benches and then hissing as it made my bare thighs cold, "Even though Dean seems to think I can do it. Which I do too sometimes. Although mostly I don't. Because not only am I not a professionally trained wrestler, but I don't really want to fight anyone at all. Besides which, aren't I setting the chicks a bad example? Oh, and Roger and the new baby of course."
Kelly snorted,
"Listen sweetie, as delighted as I am that you talk about my children and your birds in the same sentence, tonight is not about anyone but you. You don't want to fight, but if someone is threatening you, then you have every right to stand up for yourself. And your job. And your husband while you're at it. This is Kaylee's fault. Not yours."
"I mean, I guess so—," I sighed, not really sounding all that convincing. Which didn't exactly wash with my intuitive best friend,
"Nope. No guessing. This is not your fault. Say it."
"This is not my fault," I parroted back.
"Good. Now say, I don't want to do it, but to protect the things I care about, I'm going to kick her ass."
"Uh, Kel? Is this really necessary?" I protested.
"Yes. Now say it."
"Okay, okay. Easy Mussolini," I smiled, sucking a breath in to sound like I meant it. Because I mean, affirmations weren't a horrible idea, "I don't want to do it, but to protect the things I care about, I'm going to kick her—,"
Knock knock.
At the sound of someone rapping the doorframe, I jumped and nearly launched my cell phone across the room.
Oh god.
Was it show time already?
Had the previous match run short?
Where was Dean?
"Ass," Kelly supplied, not sensing my panic, or apparently hearing the ominous knock.
"Um, Kel. I think I have to go," I whispered, trying not to sound like I was having a heart attack as I climbed to my feet and shuffled over to the door. My hands were sweating so much that I could barely grab the handle. Although, I didn't actually need to in the end, since it suddenly swung open without any warning and left me face to face with my dad of all people. So yeah, I definitely needed to go, "Someone—uh—someone's here to see me."
"Okay sweetie," my bestie offered, taking the hint, "Just remember to think positive when you go out there. We'll all be watching and cheering you on up here."
"I know you will," I replied, smiling fondly, before signing off with a string of goodbyes and then hesitantly glancing up at my father.
Who looked as awkward as I did, which was a brilliant start.
Clearing my throat to try and break up the silence, I attempted to look around him for any sign of Dean—or Roman, or Matt, or hell, even the Bellas—since one to ones with Hunter had never gone well for me. And frankly the last thing I needed was to be threatened. Or drugged. Or kidnapped, or—
"You're going out there in that?" he barked instead, staring down at my outfit in horror, the way a real father might have done to his teenage daughter as she tried to leave the house with her friends. Which he could have done with me if he'd actually been present. Or if I had ever decided to dress like Kelly had. Since mostly I'd just stuck to jeans and t-shirts. And okay, so Matt's creation was awful, and moulting sequins faster than a drag queen's dog, but faced with Hunter's obvious disapproval, I suddenly felt strangely protective of it.
"Yes. And? Oh no, don't tell me Kaylee's wearing the same outfit? Because that would be embarrassing."
Hunter narrowed his eyes, which I guessed meant he didn't appreciate my attempted humor. Well, either that or, because he wasn't a girl, he simply didn't understand the same clothes issue.
Yep, that was it.
"I just didn't expect you to be—,"
"Dressed like a wrestler?" I finished for him, hardening my tone, "Yeah, well, that's the thing. See, normally I wouldn't, but thanks to Kaylee and your wife's little plan, it turns out I'm wrestling for my job in ten minutes, and so I figured why not go the whole hog? Since it might be my last night in the company and everything."
"I hope it isn't," Hunter answered.
I blinked at him.
"What?"
"That's what I came here to say," he continued, as I searched his face for any signs that he was lying and about to hit me on the head with a sledgehammer to make sure I couldn't compete in the match.
Except, he didn't.
In fact he seemed genuine,
"Because I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye—," huh, that was the understatement of the century, "But you deserve to be here as much as anyone does. Although if you tell Steph I said that, I'll deny it."
"So let me get this straight," I blinked, not even sure I was hearing him properly, "You're—you're saying you want me to win?"
Hunter paused for a second,
"I guess I am."
"Then why did you train Kaylee?" I barked at him, feeling like my head was about to explode.
My father stared back at me like I was loopy,
"I didn't."
"But Cole said that—," Stephanie said. I stopped before I could finish the sentence, because of course my evil stepmother would have said that, and make it seem like a former WWE World Champion—and my sole blood relation—was on cowbag Kaylee's side.
Suddenly I had never felt more stupid.
Or bewildered,
"So, if you didn't train her, who did?"
It felt like a lot was riding on his answer.
"Steph did."
"Oh my god. You're kidding?" I squeaked, lighting up like birthday cake candles, which clearly made him think I really had gone mad, "She can't wrestle at all. That's perfect."
In my excitement, I surged forward to give him a hug, then remembered who he was, where we were and what he'd done to me and stopped dead in front of him with my arms by my side. His—which had instinctively risen up to hold me—stayed in the air for a second or two, before dropping back down in obvious embarrassment as we both tried to process what had happened.
Awwwwkward.
"Ahem," Hunter coughed after what felt like an hour, but was probably all of five seconds, "I should go."
"Yep," I nodded, not looking up at him in a futile attempt to hide my red cheeks. Which may have just about worked on my father, but didn't fool my husband for a second.
"Hey Princess," Dean chirped, waltzing in through the doorway, "So don't freak out, but they want you in gorilla like, now. But it's totally okay, 'cos I'm gonna take you—an' what the fuck is he doin' here?"
The last part was unsurprisingly aimed at my father, who'd been standing quietly in the shadow of the door. Glaring, which didn't really help ease the tension.
Dean curled his fists up,
"Let me freakin' guess. You're tryin' to drug an' kidnap my wife again, 'cos you an' your wife know that she's gonna win?"
I beamed at him,
"Awww, you're the best husband ever. But um, actually, he's here to wish me good luck."
Dean's whole face crumpled up in confusion. Which was adorable. And completely understandable.
"He's what?"
"I know, it seems unlikely," I nodded, stepping in between them in case Dean thought I was lying, or came to the conclusion that I had been brainwashed, or just decided to beat up Hunter anyway, "But he said I deserved to be here, and—well, I'll let him tell you the rest, because can probably say it better than I can—,"
I turned towards Hunter tentatively,
"Dad?"
Dad. I hadn't called him that in forever, and the moment wasn't lost on any of us, but since he had come to offer an olive branch, I figured I should at least try to offer one back.
For a second, nobody did or said anything, but eventually— and instead of answering like I had hoped—Hunter pulled his jacket folds closer, brushed a speck of lint off and then did a button up, as calmly as if he was headed to a meeting.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he offered smoothly, although it would have been quicker to rip my heart out and stomp it into the ground. So much for the olive branch I thought he had offered, "Now, if you'll excuse me I have somewhere to be, since some of us have main event matches."
I blinked in bafflement,
"But—,"
"Princess, let it go," Dean mumbled, pulling me back up against him so that Hunter could sweep out into the hall—
Where he promptly walked straight into Roman, who stared in surprise at him, then lowered his brow. Probably assuming he'd done something dickish.
Like snapping my poor little olive branch into twigs.
"Reigns," my father grunted disdainfully, in what I assumed was meant to be a hello.
"Boss," Roman rumbled sarcastically in response to him, refusing to move an inch from the door, which meant that Hunter had to squeeze himself past him. Not that I paid much attention to that part, since I was still too busy being bewildered,
"But—he really did wish me good luck."
"Sure he did Princess," Dean nodded back at me, clearly assuming I was losing my mind. Just like Hunter had five minutes earlier. Huh. Why did that keep happening to me? Exchanging a look of concern with his best friend—who evidently conveyed something back with his eyes—Dean put his hands down carefully on my shoulders and steered me out into the brightly lit hall, "And Steph told me that she wanted me to be the IC Champion."
"But—oh forget it," I huffed, letting them shepherd me past the lighting boxes and the scurrying runners and the general chaos of backstage—
Towards gorilla. And my match.
Oh dear god.
"So, uh, what did Seth say?" I squeaked, trying to take my mind off the inevitable and get my breathing back under control, "Anything I should know before I go out there?"
Out there.
Frig.
"Not really," Dean shrugged, guiding me around Summer Rae and Fandango, who were practising their dance moves in the hall, "Just that he hasn't actually seen Kaylee. So wherever she is, The Authority is keeping her close."
"Hmm, maybe we really are wearing the same outfit," I mused as we stepped out of the bright backstage lights and into the semi-gloom of gorilla, half expecting Kaylee to already be there, practically naked, flipping her hair back and sharpening her nails into dagger-like points.
Luckily she wasn't. Although far less luckily—and in line with how my night seemed to be going—Vince was, and not only that, but from the way his eyes widened, it seemed he liked my outfit.
"Well now, who's this beautiful girl over here?" he gasped, making out as if he didn't know me before suddenly 'realizing', "Is that my granddaughter?"
"Step," I reminded him through gritted teeth as he came over and gave me a both-cheeks, European style kiss.
He ignored me.
"My, don't you look stunning?" he murmured appreciatively directly to my breasts, which was equally gross and hugely confusing, since I wasn't really sure if he meant me or them.
In fact, it was almost a relief when Matt came over to take me to the curtain for my entrance.
Almost.
"Um, can I just borrow her? Thanks," he simpered, drawing me away from the pervert who I was technically, but also technically not related to. Dean came with us, and when I say came with us, I mean that he glued himself to my back to stop said pervert from staring at my hot pants, which I was more than a little bit grateful for.
"Okay, so Kaylee was meant to go first, but—," Matt shrugged cluelessly, fluffing my hair, "No one knows where she is at the moment, so we're sending you out there because you're, well, here."
"Now?" I whispered, feeling the bile rise. Oh god, I should not have had that cupcake for lunch.
Or the one I'd had at dinner.
"Just as soon as I count you down," Matt hissed, turning around to signal the sound guy, who cued in the ring announcer.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
"Ladies and gentlemen—,"
"Hey," Dean grumbled, turning me to face him as the match was announced, swiftly followed by a remixed version of my usual music. Which didn't really help. Because how was I meant to walk out to a remix?
Did I dance? Or swagger? Or—
"Hey," Dean said again, cupping my face and tilting it upwards, "Lauren, you can do this, alright? An' like I said, m' gonna be right here, so if anythin' goes wrong, or she pulls somethin' tricky, or fuck, just looks like she's goin' to win, I'm gonna march down there an' stop her. Trust me Princess, they ain't gettin' rid of you yet."
Trust me.
He always asked me to do that, and since he hadn't once let me down in two years—despite what I'd told him last week about the laundry—I sucked in a breath, tried to fight down my nausea, and nodded as confidently as I could manage.
"Okay."
He kissed me, and I sunk forwards into it, hoping that somehow, if I leaned hard enough, I could melt clean into his chest and make a break for it.
Although annoyingly, that didn't happen.
"Introducing first, from Hartford, Connecticut, weighing in at a hundred and thirty one pounds-," which wasn't true, since I was a hundred and thirty point eight five pounds, and wait-did he say Hartford Connecticut? "Lauuuuuuurennnnnn Hellllllllmsley."
"Ambrose," I huffed, before suddenly realizing there were no more excuses.
That this was it.
That I had to go and fight.
"Princess, I promise—promise you, you can do this," Dean reassured me as Matt pulled me from his grasp and positioned me in front of the curtain with his fingers splayed out for the countdown.
Three.
Uh oh.
Two.
"I promise," Dean repeated as Matt got down to one and then pretty much shoved me out of gorilla, probably guessing that I wasn't going to do it on my own.
The second I stepped out the crowd went crazy, which didn't exactly help settle my nerves, but did make me feel the first hints of adrenaline. Plus it was especially nice to see lots of little girls waving homemade banners with my name on, shouting that they loved me and wanted me to win.
Awww.
Now I just had to actually do it.
Giving them a wave as I stumbled down the walkway, I clambered in through the ropes and then started to pace and hop around to keep my muscles warm like Dean and Roman had told me to do, while also trying not to have an aneurysm as the announcer introduced Kaylee.
Oh crap.
"And her opponent, from Miami Beach Florida, weighing in at one hundred and twenty eight pounds—," damn, so she was lighter than I was, "The Real Mrs Ambrose herself, Kaaaaayleeee Staaaaaarrrrr."
I tensed as her music came on.
Then, nothing.
Where was she?
The announcer tried again,
"Kaaylee Staarrr."
I noticed he didn't drag her name out as much this time. Although frankly, he could have made it as long as he liked and I doubted it would have made much difference, since there was still no sign of her.
Huh?
I started to look around, half expecting her to drop in on a bungee, or launch out of the audience, or up from the mat, but instead all I saw were producers looking worried and a sea of baffled faces peering back from the crowd.
One of the producers signalled the ring announcer to try it another time.
Which he did.
"Ahem. Kaylee Starr?"
But in the end, it wouldn't matter how much he said it. Because as it turned out, my opponent was nowhere to be found.
Swerve!
See you next Thursday for more answers!